


He. She. They. Theirs.

by TheStoriesWeLoveBest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9856973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStoriesWeLoveBest/pseuds/TheStoriesWeLoveBest
Summary: Is our fandom too, we can ship whaterver we want, and I ship Adlock.





	1. The first encounter with his son.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndySkull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndySkull/gifts).



> Post-The Final Problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, I'm only writing about them.  
> Post-The Final Problem.

The baby cry could be heard two blocks away. That small creature really had strong lungs. 

“Would you take him, please?” 

Please. 

She was tired, he could saw that because of the black shadows under her eyes, in every action she made. 

“Are you sure, Woman?”

Yes, she was sure, but he was’t. It was the first time he visited them since the creature born, and he didn’t even know him properly. He hadn’t saw him more than in the pictures she had sent. 

Sherlock stood up in the bed and trying to convince himself that it was the proper thing to do, the thing that fathers use to do, he walked till the baby room. It wasn’t a full nursery, it was just the spare room in Irene’s new apartment, blue walls, an empty bed and, by the window, a bassinet and a rocking chair. 

The baby, five months old, was different from Rosie. He could remember when Rosie was the same age than him. Baby Watson was big for her age, with a lot of blond hair and the same eyes as her father. But the baby in front of him was smaller, the same size than a newborn baby - complications at birth, he could tell -, he also had a lot of hair, but black hair, not long enough to be curly, and his eyes were also like his father, he got a blue smart gaze. 

The creature, Nero, seemed to be more fragile than Rosie in his arms, and he wasn’t sure how to take care of him. He took the baby, assuring that he was comfortable in his arms and sat in the rocking chair. The baby had, in fact, shut up, like if he was aware of whom was rocking him, though -of course- he couldn’t, or maybe he could (and he was, then, far more intelligent than his parents had thought he was). 

One tiny hand was moving in the air as if Nero was trying to grab his father’s finger. Sherlock allowed him, feeling the soft skin of the boy’s hand against his index finger. 

The baby cry again, a joyfull cry that made him smile. 

“Yes, hello Nero.”

Irene was at the door the next time he loocked, it had already dawned. She was wearing a green dressing gown with with skilful transparencies he knew too well. She was smiling - not smirking, just a smile that he was sure not many people had seen ever -. 

“There is a saying that when a baby catches his father by the finger, he has it for life. Did you know?”

“He… He is intelligent.”

“Yes, of course he is. Do you expect anything different?”

No, he was expecting less than he found. 

“I’m glad you came, Sherlock. You needed to know him.”

Sherlock looked at The Woman, with all her pride, leaning against the door.

“I’m glad to come, too.”


	2. Their suicidal mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Reichenbach fall.   
> Warning: bad words.  
> Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, I'm only writing about them.

She wasn’t a foolish girl, she new since the first new that he wasn’t dead. Suicide wasn’t made for Sherlock Holmes, he got too ego to that. Even though she kept the paper that reads “suicide of a fake genious”. 

Fake? Whoever had written it did not have the pleasure of seeing him deduce.

She was in Spain, in a luxury villa next to the beach, property of a new client. The sun was warming her pale skin and she was trully enjoying her time there.But he did found her, like always. He was expecting for her the next time she entered in her room: a lovely, spacious room with wooden furniture. Sherlock was sitting in the bed, with a bear that didn’t suit him, a pair of stolen jeans and a dirty shit. 

“I never would imagine you’d love a place like this?”

Irene rolled her eyes, passing through him to reach the dress she had thought to wear that night. 

“I prefer England, but a warm weather is always welcome.”

“You miss England.”

“And you will miss it too, darling.”

He didn’t answer, she won that point.

“Why are you here, Mr Holmes?”

It was absurd to ask “how do you know I’m here” or something like that. 

“I’m here because right now I’m as dead as you are.”

“"Do you need a shoulder to cry on?“ She mocked.

“No, I need some information you now.”

“Oh” she muttered. Staring at him was pretty obvious his intentions. Irene’s stomach tightened.”You can’t be serious.”

“Someone had to do it.”

“This is a suicidal mission, you wont survive this.”

“I’m already dead, Woman.”He snapped, looking at the Mediterrean Sea through the window. “Would you help me?”

After spending the whole night collecting information about Moriarty’s Network he was tired because since his death being awake was so much harder than it was before. Sherlock was sitting in an uncomfortable chair of the airport, waiting to take his plane to Frankfurt when she appeared. 

She was wearing of her dresses, and carried a little suitcase. Irene sat next to him and gave him the bag.

“If we’re going to travel together you need to change your clothes.”

“I thought this was a suicidal mission.”

“Oh, Mr Holmes, remember that I’m already dead.” He mocked at her choice of words. “Besides, that bastard fucked us both.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during The Hiatus. It follows Chapter 2.  
> Disclaimer: the characters are not mine, only the situations.

“Are you hungry?”

She was, how could she not being? Their last meal was twentysix hours ago, she was starving. 

She didn’t know that city but he seemed to know where they were going. 

“Maybe we are in London but I doubt we could find a proper ration of fish and chips” he muttered. 

They were in the wrong London, a city that only share the name with the one they miss but nothing more. London, Ontario, Canada. 

He hold the door open for her, and she smirks while entered in the restaurant. It was a posh local restaurant with an excelent wines card. He chose one, surprising her. 

The waiter served them two cups before leaving them alone to choose what they want to eat. 

“Is this a date?” She asked, amused by the fact that she was having dinner with the Great Detective (sadly, without funny hut). 

“No. It’s just dinner.”

“Same thing.”


	4. Nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the hiatus, post-Reichenbach fall and pre-The Empty Hearse.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belongs to their creators (ACD and Sherlock BBC's creators).

He couldn’t avoid nightmares, he knew perfectly how to keep his brain calm but not while he was sleep. So, the first nights with her he avoid to sleep, the last thing he wanted was The Woman knowing his weak points. 

He fell asleep while she was outside, following the plan they had planned before, and he was still asleep when she came back. 

She didn’t woke up because if she was tired he must be twice as tired, at least before their encounter she had had several full nights without waking up, but he didn’t had such privilege. 

She let him sleep till the nightmare began. She began to sweat, to move about the bed and to babble things she did not understand. Sherlock rose with a cry when she touch him, and the first thing he did was panicking because of her. 

“Keep calm, Mr Holmes” she said. “Everyone got nightmares”.

“Do you?”

Irene blinked, sitting in the bed next to him. 

“Of course I have.”

“About Karachi?” He asked, because all he needed was not to think about Moriarty in St. Barts roof, in John face crying over him because of his death. He needed to think about other times. 

“And about a lot of things you don’t know about me, Mr. Holmes.”


	5. His birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Season 4. 
> 
> Disclaimer: the characters aren't mine, they belongs to their creators (ACD and BBC Sherlock's creators).

Nero fourth birthday was different from all his birthdays before. Usually he stay with his mother, in the city they live then, they go to the airport to pick his fathr up, they bought cake and they give him some presents

But that year was different. He had never been in London before, and he wanted to be where his father lived. His mother needed a month to organize their trip to England, it was dangerous, even if he didn’t knew why. 

They stayed in London, in 221b Baker Street for a week. A week that he really enjoyed. Irene’s maid - Kate- had traveled with them, she was in Belgravia, in the house she kept after Irene gone, always with the phone in hand to solve every type of problem that could appear. 

Nero loved London, there was a place full of crimes, misteries and lights, the three things he loved then. He liked the crimes because his father worked with them, he liked misteries because of the novels he read, and he liked lights because they are brillants and shinny, and because he was afraid of the dark. 

The 26th of February was his favourite day of the year because both his parents and Kate were absolutely focus on him, and he loved being the center of their attention. 

Kate went to Baker Street that day, with a big box with his name on it, she was sitting in one of the chairs, helping the little boy to unwrapped his present, Mrs Hudson made the cake, she was looking at boy too, very pleased with the idea of seeing Sherlock having his own family. Irene was in Sherlock’s chair, looking at boy as he liked to be looked on his birthday day. And his father was playing “Happy Birthday” with his violin just because he wanted it.

Nor his father, nor his mother, was very fond on birthdays, but both of them would do the impossible if Nero wants it. 

John Watson arrived when they were eating the chocolate cake Mrs H. had done. He was grabbing little Rosie in his arms, the girl was only two years old, and that was the last thing he was expecting to find. 

When he entered in the room, he felt the blood freezing in his body: he let the child on the ground (she was directly to Sherlock to hug him), and his eyes travel from Mrs H. funny expresion, to the smirk in Irene’s face, passing through Kate -still looking at the boy but with a funny smile on her lips-, to Sherlock - purposefully focused on Rose-, to the boy, who had forgot his cake and had grabbed his violin and was touching it as well as his father did. John notice every little similarities between the boy and his father: the black curly hair, the way the hands grabbed the violin, the bright blue eyes. 

Ashamed of the suddenly attention, the boy stop playing and go to his mother to hide the face in her shoulder. Irene embrance the boy while John was still triying to formulate what he wanted to say.

“What is this?”

Sherlock answer, with Rosie in his arms. 

“A birthday party, obviously. Nero is turning four today.”

“¿Nero?”

The boy, getting away from her mother, look at him. Yes, Nero.

“Four years?” He snapped at his friend. “And in four years you didn’t had the chance to tell me that you had a son?”  
Sherlock, with a sigh, give Rosie to The Woman.

“John, please, don’t be so dramatic.”

“Wait” John mutters. “If he is four years old, it means that he was conceived...”He turned red, and his hand began to shake. “She did know, right? She knew you were alive?”

Sherlock frowned.

“Of course she knew, where on earth did you think I’d got the information about Moriarty?”

Irene smirk grew bigger as she let Mrs. H. took Rosie and Nero replace the girl, embracing her again by the shoulder. She look at Kate.

“I told you this will be funny, didn’t I?”


	6. Gleaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post - Season 4. 
> 
> Disclaimer: the characters are not mine, I'm just a fanwriter writing about them.

“Nero, put your coat on.”

The boy didn’t seem to hear his dad. Sherlock was starting to feel exhasperated. Little Nero was lying in the floor, over his belly, with a book open in front of his eyes, he was gleaning information about the descomposition process of a dead body, a book his father had gave him.

“Nero, the coat, now.”

“I don’t wanna go,” he answered with that american accent his dad didn’t like.

“I don’t care. You will go with us.”

“Why?”

“Nero, mate, you know you can’t be left here alone, right?” Intermediated John Watson.

He was almost amused by the interaction between father and son, both of them were so stubborn that it was just annoying. The four year old boy looked at him with that eyes that were so much like his father, and -with a resignation sigh- got himself up to put his coat on.

His coat, John couldn’t say he was surprised by the fact that the coat was a perfect replica of his father’s coat.

“This is ridiculous, why his coat cost more than what I gain in a month?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, helping Nero to put it on.

“Because he is his mother’s son.”

“Mummy says I’m a little posh boy.”

John smiled, looking at Sherlock who was so busy putting his son’s collar up.

“Like father like son.”

“Shut up, John.”


	7. Zenith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> During the Hiatus. After Raichenbach fall and before The Empty Hearse. 
> 
> Disclaimer: the characters are not mine, I'm just a fanwriter writing about them.

It was the zenith or their relationship, even if neither of them seemed their truly themselfs, they seemed like a longtime stablished couple traveling through the world looking a new adventure. 

Adventure? No, they aren’t looking for it, looking takes ages.they were just finding them. 

They were in the Carter Lake, Oregon, following Moran’s steps. The tack was clear, Moran was supposed to be in a abandoned house next to one of the most important lakes in the world. 

It was summer, and they were unconsciounsly taking hands. No. No taking hands. That was a romantic action that neither of them would do. She has guiding him through the forest, two steps ahead, with her long hair in a ponytail, and -surprisely- without heels. 

The jeans felt weird against his legs, had been years since he had wore them. In her case was different: the jeans and the mountain boots styled her perfectly. She was even better than in her beloved heels. 

“Remember me why we are looking like two idiots?” He mumbled. 

She sighed, without stoping. 

“We are in disguise, Mr. Holmes, try to remember it.”

Sometimes, Sherlock Holmes could be like a kid, he had been fussing all the way over the forest about everything: the jeans, the traffic because of the taxi had had to stop, the jeans, her ponytail, the jeans, his red-haired dye she made him put on, and the jeans. 

“I believed that a disguise is always a selfprotrait, Woman.”

She stopped, turning on to face him with her best playful smirk.

“So, tell me: what are we?”

“Are we suppose to be something? An ordinary couple?”

She didn’t answert but prideful look at the track in front of them and continue walking till they reached the house.

Moran wasn’t there anymore, there was a corpse in a cupboard - Moran’s last victim -, and some tracks to follow that will lead them to Rome. 

The Woman looked at him again, bitting her lower lip:

“What?”

“Just remember that whatever in hell we are, we aren’t ordinary. We never will be such thing as that.”


	8. Exhort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This happens after Series 4.  
> Disclaimer: the characters don't belong to me, they belongs to their creators (ACD and, obs, the creators of the BBC serie).
> 
> Thanks for reading :)

Mrs. Adler got four moles on her back. She used to sleep over her stomach so he could see them everynight. Their form remembered him of Cassiopea constellations, but he coudn’t be sure because he was never fond on astronomy (as John Watson loved to remember him). 

The sun was rising on the other side of the window. It was too early for another farewell, they only got a few hours till Mrs. Hudson enter in 221b Baker Street bringhin him breakfeast. 

She needed to be out of his house before Mrs. Hudson arrived, it was important that nobody knew about her. 

Why? 

He coudn’t be sure, but that’s what they do, keep the secret of each other, for protection. Thanks to keeping it secret Eurus couldn’t introduce Irene in her little game two months ago, or before, Moriarty couldn’t threat him to shooting her just to making him jump.

They are such a weakness for each other that their relationship must be a secret to everyone, except two persons all over the world who they know would never betray them. 

He knew she was awake then, he could feel the changes in her breathing. 

“You need to go, Woman.It’s late.”

“My flight doesn’t leave till eight, we got time.”

He could exhort her to live, but that would have the opossite effect. Despite her words, she got up and began to search her clothes all over the room. He watched her: she was beautiful in the morning, the sunlight stripped her body giving her the aspect of a Goddes of Sun. In another time, they would have prayed to her, they would have been entrusted to her.

Irene Adler was fully dressed, with the make up recently put on and with an intrincate bun in the back of her head before seven thirty. She was sitting at the window frame, with her heels in the hand. 

“You will come, right?”

“You know I will, Woman. I would never fail him.”

She smirked, of course she knew that. 

“I’ll give him your love, Mr. Holmes.”

Without a goodbye kisses, or seconds looks to each other, she dissappeared through the window.


	9. Unconscionable.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post S4 E2.

Happy birthday. (18:45).

Come here. SH. (00:15).

Please. SH. (01:15).

The response came twenty minutes past two a.m.

Is it that you miss me, Mr. Holmes?

Please. SH. 

I’ll take the first flight to London. 

She arrived at Baker Street five minutes past ten in the morning, with a blue dress, black heels and the hair loose over her shoulders. She had really take the first flight: she hadn’t enough time to make her hair as she usually did, and the make up wasn’t as perfect as it always were. She had been worried, because he - Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective in the funny hut - had said please. Please, of all the words in the world. 

And she had been right about being worried because what she found was far worse than she had expected. After the last farewell she had knew that he would need some time before being fine again. But he seemed being even worse than then. The house was a mess, it smelled even worse. He was unshaved and he semmed like if was going to lost conscious one moment or another.

He was playing the violin, looking through the window with distracted eyes.

“John knew,” he said. “I forgot to put the silent mode on, he heard your text alert.”

The song, she had heard it before, when the world was just them in some dusty hotel room. She knew everynote of that song, even the sentiment that made him composed it. It was her song, he had said. 

“He thinks I need to… take the chance now that I’ve got it.”

“Oh, dear, little did he know you take take long time ago, right?”

“Is that what we were doing? Taking the chance?”

“Yes, Sherlock, that’s exactly what we had done, in our particulary way. What was our dear Dr. Watson expecting? A wedding? A lovely familiar house? You and I both know that would go us crazy.”

“I…”

Irene walked in the room till reaching his chair, she sat up majestuosly.

“What I’m here, Mr. Holmes?”

“I-I want you back in London, Woman.”She looked at him without blinking, he breathed deeply. “I will talk to Mycroft. I want the boy coming too.”

“Oh, so this is taking the chance? Are we going to play the happy family now?”

“It’s unconscionable being as we are now, illogical. I want spend time with him, and with you too.” He recognize in a wishper.”It won’t be as John thought, we would never get married, we don’t work like that. I will solve my cases, and you will still having your clients, as long as you don’t threat the Royal Family again, I’m sure I could convince Mycroft to get you a pardon.”

She sighed, it would be stupid denied that she had thought about going back to London one and another time. 

“Oh dear, I flew to the other side of Europe to get a romantic declaration?” She smirked at him, he raised the eyebrows. “Allright, Mr. Holmes, how do we do?”

“Go back to Podgorica, stay there till I could got the things done with Mycroft. I will contact with you.”

She left Baker Street five minutes before six.


End file.
